Big Deal
by idearlylovealaugh
Summary: Given who they are and what they've done, Ron and Hermione are used to answering tough questions from their kids. But with Rose and Hugo home on Easter Break, they find out that teenagers have more on their minds than the second wizarding war.


**Disclaimer:** _As if_ JKR would ever write anything this silly or plot-less.

Hermione swung the door of the clothes dryer shut with satisfaction and inhaled deeply. She had always loved the smell of clean laundry. It might not have been an amortentia-level love, but not everything could be Ron's hair, could it? It was enough, anyway, to ensure that she always did laundry the muggle way. Cleaning charms were faster, no doubt, but with the resulting absence of smell she could never feel entirely _sure_ of it's efficacy. Having the kids home for the weekend meant some extra time in the laundry room, but Hermione Granger-Weasley had never been known as a cutter of corners. She hoisted the extra-full basket to her hip and set off down the hallway.

As she made her way toward the bedrooms, Hermione paused by a window and took in the spectacle in the garden below. She could see her husband and son standing together in conversation; the two redheads - one still taller, but the other catching up - stood in an identical position with their arms akimbo, peering down at a large black ball quivering on the ground at their feet. As she watched, she saw Ron point to the sky, after which Hugo grabbed his broom and a short, stout stick and flew in the general direction that Ron had indicated. Ron directed his wand at the ball, which then zoomed in the air in a wide arc before streaking back toward Ron. Ron flung himself to the ground as the ball whizzed by, inches from his head. Their son gave chase as it streaked back up into the sky. Hugo gave the ball a sound thwack with his stick, directing it back toward his father. Ron trapped the ball with his arms, nearly bending double as it collided with his midsection. Wrestling it to the ground, he managed to point his wand at it again and it went still. Ron hauled himself up, brushing the grass off his knees. Hugo landed beside him and they began to consider the ball again, hands on hips. Hermione shook her head with a smile, continuing down the hall.

As she neared her daughter's room she noticed that the door was slightly ajar, though the room was silent. Hermione wondered for a moment why Rose wasn't out in the yard with her brother and father, but acknowledged to herself that Rose had been unusually quiet since they picked up the children at the Hogwarts Express. Hermione had come to realize that bouts of silence weren't uncommon for teenage girls, but Rose had been very subdued for the entire Easter Break. Rose tended to brood when something was bothering her, and Hermione had learned that it did no good to push her to talk until she was ready. Still, she hoped that Rose would open up to her before they put her back on the train to Hogwarts in the morning.

With that in mind, she tapped lightly on Rose's door and stuck her head through the opening. "Rose, are you in here?" She saw at once that she was. The sixteen-year-old was lying motionless on her bed, flat on her back and staring at the ceiling. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"Hmmm," Rose grunted in assent, but didn't turn her head.

Hermione moved into the room, balancing the laundry basket on her hip. "I actually have clean clothes. I've just about laundered everything so that you can finish packing your trunk. I wouldn't mind some company while I fold, if you don't mind?"

"No, go ahead." Hermione took the invitation and gently seated herself on the edge of her daughters' bed. She saw Rose glance at her. "You know, there are charms for that."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, I know. You sound just like your father," she added good-naturedly, pulling one of Ron's white t-shirts out of the basket.

She saw Rose's eyes flick to the open door. "Where _are_ Dad and Hugo?"

Hermione held the t-shirt up, neatly tucking in the sleeves and folding it in half. "They're out in the back garden with that old broken bludger they found in Grandad's shed. I think they're trying to charm it to, er, perform specific maneuvers for practice," she explained in the uncertain tone that always characterized her attempts to talk about Quidditch. "So far, I think their success is rather limited!" she continued with a laugh.

"I'm sure they could use your help," she added lightly.

"Maybe in a bit," Rose responded noncommittally, and lapsed back into silence.

Hermione shook out a set of robes as she watched Rose out of the corner of her eye. Her face was troubled and her gaze distant. Just when she was about to give in and ask Rose what was on her mind, Rose spoke.

"Mum?" she began hesitantly, still looking at the ceiling. "You know how you've always said that we could ask you about anything, and you'd tell us the truth?"

Hermione certainly did. Ever since she and Ron had become parents, they had realized they would face rather more complicated questions from their children than the majority of mums and dads. In the beginning it had been questions about all the people they often heard about, but had never met - Uncle George's twin, Teddy's parents, the people that their cousins were named for. As they got older and started attending Hogwarts, they began learning about the wizarding wars and the part that their families had played in them. Ron and Hermione had decided early on that they would be as honest as possible, giving them truthful answers that suited their age and understanding. It was important to them that their children hear the truth from them directly, even when the experiences were painful and difficult to talk about - not from rubbish like the unauthorized biographies that Rita Skeeter published of key individuals in the war, which managed to be both ludicrously inaccurate and infuriatingly offensive.

"Yes, of course, dear. You know you can always ask me anything, and I'll do my best to answer." As Hermione answered her daughter, her formidable mind was already working. Rose and Hugo had heard about most of their parents' experiences in the war, but there were some incidents that they hadn't yet discussed - some scars that hadn't yet been explained. Her brain quickly canvassed those gaps, identifying the questions Rose was most likely to ask her and mentally preparing her answer.

Rose frowned, seeming to work out exactly how to word her question. Hermione waited patiently, still evaluating potential questions. Finally, Rose's jaw set in determination and she blurted out her question to the ceiling. "How old were you the first time you... you h-had sex?"

Hermione's train of thought screeched to a grinding halt, it's conductor temporarily derailed. Of all the possible questions she had considered, this one hadn't even been on the map. She looked at Rose, who was still determinedly avoiding her eyes and was flushing a distinct shade of pink. Realizing that a calm, collected answer would increase the chances of Rose ever confiding in her again, she suppressed the one frenzied question that was threatening to burst out of her mouth at any moment and forced herself to answer Rose directly.

"Well, let me think. I was eighteen, if I remember correctly," she replied in a what she thought was a pretty relaxed tone, all things considered. Her hands, which had frozen in the act of pairing two socks together when Rose had surprised her, continued matching the socks and placed them in the basket.

Rose said nothing for a moment, merely poking at her afghan viciously with a stray finger. "So it was after you finished school?" she asked eventually.

"Well, as you know, sweetheart, my seventh year was interrupted because of the war," Hermione replied, trying to plow through the awkwardness of the discussion. "So I still had one year left, but under normal circumstances, yes, I would have already graduated," she finished, distracted for a brief moment by wondering what a normal year at Hogwarts would have felt like.

Rose seemed to digest this information, the conflicted look still on her face. Clearly her need for reassurance on whatever was bothering her was outweighing her discomfort with the topic of conversation, but only just. "What about boys? How old do you think dad was?" she finally ventured.

"Well, I don't need to think, I know. He was eighteen at the time, as well."

"Really?" Rose's head shot up, looking at her mother for the first time.

"Yes, really. I know your father likes to joke, but he's really only a few months younger than me, you know," she added with a faint trace of annoyance.

"That's not what I meant," Rose explained hastily, looking away again. "Sorry, I was just a bit... I was... I was just surprised."

"Surprised?" Hermione prompted. She set the last t-shirt into the basket of folded clothes and shifted slightly to face Rose, pulling one leg up onto the bed underneath her.

"Surprised that your first time and his first time was... the same time. Ugh, nevermind," Rose finished, looking acutely uncomfortable. At this point, her face was flaming red and Hermione imagined that she was deeply regretting ever bringing up the topic. As much as she also wished that was the case, she could sense that Rose needed her in some way and determined to get to the bottom of the issue.

"Why would that be surprising, Rose?" she probed gently.

"Just a conversation we were having... something some of the girls were saying..." Rose trailed off unhappily, looking at the wall. It was obvious that whatever was on her mind had gotten her pretty upset and that whatever answers her mother had given her had done nothing to set her mind at ease.

Hermione felt that she had gotten over her initial shock enough to ask the one question her brain had been screaming at her since the beginning of this conversation, and ask it with tolerable calmness, so she did.

"Rose, why did you ask me this? Where is this all coming from?"

Rose was silent for a moment. Finally she sat up abruptly and faced her mother. "All the girls in my dorm were talking on the night before the break, about... boys, and what they had done, and it turned out that pretty much everyone had already had sex except me!" she said in a rush, still blushing horribly. "And they were talking about it so casually, like it was just something that everybody had done by the time they were our age. And Henry Milliken had just asked me out, and I was pretty excited about it, but then I started thinking - had he already done it? Would he assume I had? Would he think we were going to do it?" she continued passionately. "And all the girls were telling me that the first time is something you should just get out of the way, like it was no big deal! And I always thought it _was_ a big deal," she finished miserably.

"Oh, Rose, come here," Hermione motioned to her obviously distressed daughter. Rose bent over and laid her head in her mother's lap, a tear trickling down her cheek. Hermione ached for her daughter, remembering how confusing and sometimes painful it was to be a teenage girl. Although her own teenage years had been more or less dominated by the reemergence of the most evil wizard the world had ever seen, she had certainly had her share of typical adolescent concerns - of wanting to fit in, to be liked, to have the person you fancied fancy you back. She stroked Rose's frizzy dark red hair. "My sweet girl," she murmured.

As Rose and Hugo grew, it had always fascinated Hermione to see the character traits they had inherited from her and Ron. She could often see herself in her daughter; Rose had inherited her inquisitiveness and her single-mindedness. Her stubbornness, Hermione had to admit, she came by honestly by both parents. But she was also so very much like Ron: sensitive, protective of her family, and most of all, she wore her heart on her sleeve. Slights just seemed to cut her deeper, insecurities plagued her more heavily. Hermione treasured her big heart, but it was sometimes a recipe for disaster in a teenager.

"First of all, Rose, I wouldn't necessarily believe everything those girls said about themselves," Hermione began. "Sometimes people stretch the truth a bit when they're in a group of their peers, because they want to impress them or they want people to admire them. I wouldn't be surprised to find that most of your friends feel just as you do."

She paused, considering her words carefully. "I don't want to give you the impression that sex is wrong, or something to be ashamed or guilty about. Sex is a very natural part of an _adult_ relationship. And darling, you're _not_ an adult, and thank goodness for that!" she continued, still stroking Rose's hair. "Sex _is_ a big deal, sweetheart. And not just because of the potential consequences, which are very real and I trust you understand all about. It's not just a physical act - it's an intensely emotional one as well. It brings with it a lot of feelings that can be overwhelming and complicated, especially for someone of your age.

"My advice to you would be to wait until you're with someone you truly love and trust, someone who respects you. I can only speak from my own experience, of course, but I can say without reservation that it's worth it. You're a strong, smart young woman, Rose. Don't let anyone - not your friends, or a boy, or anyone else - pressure you into doing anything until you feel it's right and you want to. And when you do, know that first and foremost, I want you to be safe. You can _always_ come to me for help with that.

"Does that help at all?"

Rose nodded into her lap, her arms tightening around Hermione's middle. "Thanks, mum," came her muffled reply.

"Of course, dear. I hope you know you can always talk to me about anything, no matter the subject." She smiled at Rose as she sat up and scrubbed at her eyes. "Now, let's go outside and help your father and Hugo. I think the men in this family can be a bit hopeless without us at times."

Rose smiled gratefully at her mum and hopped off the bed. Hermione draped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed as they headed for the door. "And on the way outside, you can tell me about this Henry Milliken..."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Later that evening, Hermione sat in bed with a large, musty tome resting on her knees, the pages of which she hadn't flipped in over a quarter of a hour. A vague sense of dissatisfaction nagged at her and she knew it had to do with her unexpected talk with Rose earlier that day. She couldn't help feeling like the conversation had been a exam she hadn't fully prepared for - which was a highly unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling for her. She couldn't stop mentally reviewing her advice to her daughter, hoping she had given Rose the right guidance. And there was something else she was feeling uneasy about, too, even though she knew it was foolish...

She looked over the top of the book as her husband came in from the bathroom, toweling off his hair from his recent shower. Knowing she wouldn't be caught while he had a towel over his head, she took the opportunity to appreciate his lean torso and the way his pajama bottoms were slung low on his hips.

"Ron, do you ever regret that I was the first and only person you've ever slept with?"

"What?" Ron yelped, muffled from the towel. He whipped it from over his head, the abrupt motion causing his fiery hair to stick up in a multitude of directions. "No, never!" He stared at her incredulously. "Why, do you?"

"No, of course not," Hermione replied dismissively, setting her book on the bedside table.

Ron pitched the towel in the direction of the hamper as he made his way to his side of the bed. He eyed Hermione as he slid between the covers. "Where did that come from, then?"

Hermione paused a moment. She and Ron shared nearly everything when it came to their children, and Rose hadn't specifically asked her to keep the conversation private, but she had a feeling that the subject matter would prove inflammatory to her husband.

"Earlier this afternoon Rose had some questions for me about sex."

Ron didn't disappoint. " _What_?" he cried. "You told me you already had the talk with her! _You_ did Rose, and _I_ did Hugo. That was the deal! And I did my part, even though it was possibly the most embarrassing ten minutes of my life! Merlin knows how Dad got through that six times," he remarked, momentarily distracted. "Or maybe just five times; he probably got the twins in one go."

"I imagine he was an old pro by the last time he gave it," Hermione supplied helpfully.

"You forget love, _I_ was the last time. And he definitely wasn't," Ron said with a shudder.

"Well, it wasn't that kind of discussion," Hermione replied. "I _did_ give her that talk, quite a while ago. She didn't have any questions about the... _mechanics_ of it all. It was more about the emotional aspects of sex," she explained delicately.

Ron eyes bugged out slightly as he continued to stare at her. Hermione sighed.

"It seems that her dorm mates all said they were sexually active, and Rose-,"

"But - she hasn't - she's not..." Ron finally managed to choke out in a strangled voice.

"No! No, definitely not. Not even close, I should imagine. I think she was just trying to ask how a person knows they're ready for sex."

Ron didn't look particularly reassured. "And what did you tell her?"

"That sex was a big deal and comes with a lot of physical and emotional consequences," she answered. "And that while my first priority will always be for her to be safe and happy, that I hope she'll wait until she's in a serious, respectful relationship with someone she truly loves."

Ron was quiet for a few moments. "Well, that all sounds very responsible, Hermione. Although I think you could've been a little stronger on the 'waiting' bit. Maybe given her an age to shoot for. Thirty-five sounds good."

"I don't think so."

"I think I've heard of a witch's nunnery in Cornwall. That's another option. I could probably get her a brochure."

"Ho ho," Hermione replied dryly. "Thanks, but no."

Ron appraised her as she looked down at her hands unhappily. "OK, what's the deal? You had a nice mother-daughter chat with Rose - who seemed happier at dinner than she'd been all weekend, by the way - and used your bloody brilliant brain to solve everyone's problems, which you love. What's still bothering you?"

"Oh, Ron," she fretted, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around her. "What if her dormmates weren't exaggerating? What if students really are having sex so casually at Hogwarts?"

"Where?" he asked doubtfully. "In a classroom?"

"I distinctly remember _you_ looking for an empty classroom in sixth year," Hermione replied tartly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, for a snog and _maybe_ to cop a feel over her shirt. You know as well as I do that the doors had Unlockable charms on them, and you weren't exactly going to get your kit off when a prefect or, worse, a professor could walk in at any time," he reasoned. "Eugh, can you imagine Snape walking in on you?"

"I don't know, maybe outside?" she countered, ignoring his comment about their old Potions Master.

"In Scotland, in the winter?"

"There's always warming charms...," she trailed off, frowning.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Seems like you've put a lot of thought into how this might work, Hermione," he teased, squeezing her about the shoulders. "Maybe you weren't the innocent young thing I thought you were."

"Oh, shut it, you know I was," she replied, rolling her eyes as she burrowed further into his side.

Ron looked down at the frown on her face and the small lines puckered between her eyebrows. "Love, I really don't think you should worry about this. The only time _I_ ever got lucky at Hogwarts was when you were back for your seventh year and you snuck me into the dorms, and I don't even think you would have done _that_ except for the fact that we barely saw each other that year, and when we did we were gagging for it," Ron concluded with an air of finality.

"Ron Weasley, that is completely crude!" Hermione gasped in a scandalized tone, poking him hard in the ribs. "And accurate," she added reflectively.

"Anyway, it just sounds like dorm talk to me," Ron continued, rubbing his side. "You should have heard the things Seamus used to say he got up to with all kinds of birds, but we had the sense not to believe the half of them."

"I know, I mentioned that too," Hermione replied. "Not about Seamus," she clarified at his confused look, "about exaggerating to impress your friends." She sighed worriedly. "I guess I just hate the thought of Rose growing up too quickly. We had to grow up so fast, and I sometimes feel we missed out on a normal teenage experience."

"Considering the shit show that was our sixth year, I think we had plenty of it," Ron snorted. He considered for a moment. "I still don't get why you asked me if I regretted only shagging you."

"You didn't hear the naked shock in her voice when she realized my first time was with you!" Hermione exclaimed. Ron grimaced at her choice of words. "It just made me wonder if you had ever, well, wondered what it would have been like if we hadn't gotten together when we were so young. If you wished you had gotten the chance to sow your wild oats."

"Huh?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose.

"It's a muggle expression, it means to, ah, _fully enjoy_ the single life before you settle down," Hermione explained.

Ron still looked thoughtful. "So 'sowing', meaning..." he began as he made a vaguely rude gesture with his hand.

"Don't... think about it too literally," Hermione interrupted with a sigh. "I just wondered if you ever felt like you missed your chance to see what else is out there, that's all."

Ron was silent for a few moments, giving Hermione her own chance to regret ever having brought it up. Maybe he had never thought about it _before_ , but now that she had actually _suggested_ the idea to him...

She was startled from her thoughts by Ron's hands finding her hips. She squeaked in surprise and pleasure as he pulled her on top of him, sliding across his torso until they were face-to-face.

"Reckon I don't need any sowing experience to know that shagging you is hands-down the best feeling on earth," Ron grinned, running his hands up her back and then back down again, slowly tracing the curves of her body. Hermione would have giggled except that, as always, the feeling of Ron's body pressed against hers seemed to steal all the air from her lungs. She felt a surge of emotion as she saw the sincerity in his eyes that were nonetheless smiling mischievously at her. "You seem to have temporarily forgotten."

"Silly me," she replied breathlessly as his fingers slid under her nightie and up her side. "Must've slipped my mind."

"And people call you the Brightest Witch of Our Age," Ron tutted in mock reproof. Hermione's heartbeat picked up as he leaned up to murmur against her lips. "Luckily for you, I'm always more than happy to remind you."


End file.
